The Number One Rule
by sparkycola1
Summary: A chance encounter in a bar reveals more about Dean's past than Sam knew. Set in late Season 6.


**Number One Rule**

**Summary: **A chance encounter in a bar reveals more about Dean's past than Sam knew. Set in late Season 6.

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><p>There was a look somewhere between recognition and uncertainty in the eyes of the man staring at his brother. Sam didn't like the look, and was keeping an eye on him, especially since he looked almost twice the size of either of them. Although Dean was pretending to pay him no attention, Sam knew he was watching him out of the corner of his eye too.<p>

"Hey" the man threw the word at Dean, not aggressively, but with a certain level of confidence and drunken attitude. Dean turned just slightly to him.

Sam saw the exact moment the light of recognition went on and the leer he was casting at Dean put him on high alert, sobering immediately.

"Yeah, it is you. Wow, you sure have grown." Sam saw his brother tense up in recognition and then down the rest of his drink. He suspected Dean wanted to leave.

"Still. I like what I see." The man lusted openly at Dean who slammed his empty glass down on the bar. "If you're still selling-"

"Let's go Sam." Dean said firmly as he turned around to leave, face a complete mask except to Sam, who saw the twinge of guilt and shame he was trying to hide.

Sam nodded and followed loyally. He wanted to get away from the creep too, and ask his brother exactly what those words meant, though he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he knew already. He couldn't ignore the obvious, no matter how much he wanted to.

Ever since he'd got his soul back, he'd felt a lot more loyalty and trust in his brother than ever before. Probably because he never imagined he'd be walking the earth again after what happened. More than that, he never imagined he could get total absolution and forgiveness from his brother after what he'd done... and when it came down to it, Dean had been right all along. And he'd never given him reason to doubt him, not once in his life, but time and time again Sam had failed his brother - betraying him, leaving him, taking him for granted. Choosing a demon over him.

He'd always thought he was the righteous one of them, the virtuous, ethical one. But he realised that while he believed in those principles, it was Dean that lived them. Dean that gave without remembering and took without forgetting. Who seemed to inherently always know right from wrong, no matter what, despite his declarations that Sam was his conscience. Who forgave everything, and everyone, except himself. Dean had given everything for him, time after time. Had lived a thankless life of constant sacrifice and loss. It was Sam's turn to step up and make sure his brother never got hurt again. Or at least, if he was, to be there like Dean had always been there for him. Dean truly deserved better and Sam was determined to make sure he got it. And besides: Sam had learned his lesson. Rule 1 in Sam's post-apocalyptic rulebook: Always, Always trust Dean. He had to have faith in something these days, and unlike God, unlike angel douchebags, unlike demons and strangers, his brother had more than earned it.

So he followed his brother out of the pub and back to the motel. His brother was silent, as he knew he would be - Dean never said anything when he was upset. It was partly why it had always been so easy to overlook when they were growing up. He had always thought his brother was just trying to be stoic, until he found out Dean had gone totally mute after the death of their mom...then he started to wonder if it was a habit, some kind of instinct in his brother to internalise his pain, worries, fear, anger. Not learned...but innate, just reinforced. Encouraged. Sam tried to quell the knot of angry bitterness he felt towards their father, as he always did when their father had acted out of convenience instead of love. He turned it into determination to do better. Turn your negative emotions into determination. That was one thing their father had taught them right. That and their father's number one rule..._be prepared. _Like he was some boy scout. Like any of them were.

When they got back to the motel Dean still hadn't spoken a word... but the unspoken hung heavier and heavier in the air between them. Sam wanted to know. Dean knew Sam wanted to know. The room knew, the furniture knew, the humid evening air knew. They were all waiting for Dean to step out of his safe silence, into the deep dark vulnerable territory of opening up. Trusting his brother. He needed an opening and Sam gave it to him.

"Wanna tell me what that was about?" Sam said cautiously, more cautiously than he ever would have before. Less judgementally. He couldn't judge Dean for anything these days. Couldn't raise the righteous indignation. He was still trying, unsuccessfully, to reconcile the images of his brother, and the bulky, sweaty mass of drunken scum they had been talking to. Dean had ... had what? Sam couldn't. He had to know from Dean. Dean sat down at the table near the window and pulled out a bottle of whisky that he took a swig from as Sam parked himself next to him. The familiar presence of the Impala was just outside, forming a triangle, "in" on their private discussion.

"It's not a big deal Sam." Dean said, but it didn't hold the same vehement defensiveness it used to. Sam realised he wasn't the only one who'd changed. Hell had changed his brother. Everything paled in comparison to Hell... was Dean really empty inside, like Famine had said? But Sam knew for sure he was still Dean, still his brother, deep down. He would make sure he lived again.

"Was it...what it sounded like?" Sam said doubtfully.

Dean shrugged with feigned flippancy. "Pretty much." and Sam had to look away. Look out at the Impala for moral support. But the Impala had a number one rule too and it was "Ask no questions".

"When?" Sam asked, quietly. Dean looked like he was going to protest but something stopped him, as he looked at his brother's face. Like he hadn't seen what he'd expected to see. Instead of judgement, anger, pity, condemnation...he saw interested concern, love, worry, trust. Sam had finally graduated to his brother, instead of his _little _brother. Because for once he saw this in terms of Dean, and not in terms of himself. Sam felt absurdly hopeful at the realisation on Dean's face, the pause.

"I...when we didn't have any money." Dean said, unfamiliar with the way the conversation was going, unexplored territory. This was not how things usually went. Usually Sam got angry, Dean shut down. That was how it was. Sam would spend hours hating their dad, being angry with Dean, blaming himself and trying to break down the infuriating wall that Dean always erected to protect himself. But this time was different...

"We never had any money." Sam said with a light touch of sarcasm. There was a silent shrug; then it occurred to him. "Wait...you mean..."

"Dad didn't have any money. We needed food and a roof." Dean said simply, eyes going to Sam's and pleading for understanding. Then it seemed his brother had reached his limit of scarily honest conversation. "Hell it's not like I'm shy in that area." his brother gave a wry smile.

Sam knew it was disingenuous. And Dean knew he knew. And the knowledge oppressed them once again until Sam said, with pain in his voice from suppressing the images in his mind's eye...

"What about...what about the credit card scam?"

"I didn't think that one up 'til I was 16, Sam."

Sam hadn't known that it had been Dean's idea. It surprised him that he hadn't known, but it didn't surprise him that it had been Dean's idea...his brother was good at thinking up schemes and strategies and cons. He pictured his brother at 15, 14, 13,...? And that repulsive man they'd met at the bar...who could easily have overpowered a child in such a vulnerable position. The whole thing made Sam's stomach churn.

"How old were you the first time?"

"I dunno. 12 I guess." Dean said in a way that made Sam think he knew exactly how old he was the first time, remembered it vividly. His brother, 12 years old, selling his body for money to creeps and jerks and men 5 times the size of him... Sam stared hard at the table. His brother took another swig from the bottle.

Sam shouldn't have been surprised really. There was truly nothing Dean wouldn't do for his family. _He would sell body and soul..._ Sam thought, with a kind of horror. For him and dad. The world according to Dean, rule one: Nothing was more important than family.

And what could Sam say to that? In his head a 12 year old child, but 12 going on 20... was watching his little brother sleeping. He had two quarters in his hand and knew there was no food in the fridge, no money for another night in this motel, and their dad wasn't coming back for a few more days. But their dad had given them all the money he had, he'd have to hustle money for himself on the road as he went along. Maybe Dean had looked at the amount he'd been given and said "But...you're going to be gone for two weeks..." and their dad had looked at him and said "I know son, just do the best you can. You know this job doesn't pay. But we're saving people - you can't put a price on that. Just keep Sammy safe until I get back..." and now 12 year old Dean was playing those words back in his head looking at his brother, wondering how to keep him safe. Their dad hadn't said anything about keeping Dean safe too. And out he stepped into the night. Sam shuddered at the image.

"Did Dad know?"

Dean actually laughed at that. "Dad would've killed me." he said ruefully.

No he wouldn't, Sam thought. He would have shattered. Shattered into a million pieces at the realisation that he'd totally and utterly, incomprehensibly failed to keep his son safe. He'd brought up a child who thought his responsibility for his younger brother was worth more than his safety, than his soul. Dad wouldn't have been furious at Dean, but at himself. And wasn't it ironic that for all Dean's closeness to Dad, it was Sam who understood him better?

The movie playing in his head flickered towards that ugly picture of his 12 year old brother with the man in the bar and he had to suppress it quickly before he threw up. He wished he'd drunk less now. He felt his stomach doing catapaults and tried to think of anything that would keep his mind off its contents. But it didn't work and he had to rush to the toilet as said contents made a grand exit... his brother stood awkwardly at the door, poured him some water. Awkward only because he sensed he was the cause of this nausea, this disgust. As though going closer to Sam and rubbing his back like he usually would might make things worse, might cause him to throw up more violently.

Sam wanted to know what the right thing to say would be but didn't. It had been so much easier to be angry. He took the water.

"I'm sorry man, it's just the thought of that jerk in the bar..." Sam swallowed.

"Yeah well." Dean shrugged. He wasn't up to saying much, Sam knew.

"I.." Sam hesitated, not wanting to break the spell or revert to their normal habits "I wish you'd told me..."

"Why Sam?" Dean said tiredly, rubbing his eyes.

"Because it's important Dean. This stuff is important. And you shouldn't have to deal with that kind of crap on your own. That's what brothers are for."

"What, brothers are for offloading crap onto?" Dean said drily.

"Yeah, they are. Among other things." Sam said seriously. "I just want you to know that you can trust me with this stuff."

"Yeah, I know." Dean said softly. If Dean didn't trust Sam with it, he wouldn't have told him at all, they both knew that. It reassured them. So long as Dean trusted him, Sam could trust himself. Sam got up shakily from the toilet and had another glass of water. He was probably going to have nightmares about this.

"Thanks for telling me." Sam said sincerely.

Dean nodded, then caught his eye and put his hand up significantly. "We're never mentioning it again." Dean said, just as sincerely. Sam reflected that they'd come all this way without ever having mentioned it at all, so it wouldn't be hard for Dean. Maybe Dean would have taken it to his grave - and he nearly had - if they hadn't chanced on an old 'customer'. And Sam wouldn't have known the sacrifice his brother had made for him, just like Dean had tried to hide the fact that he'd sold his soul for him. His courage that came purely out of love, in the face of incredible fear and shame, reinforced what Sam already knew. That his brother needed him too, needed his love and protection, and he would do anything to keep them from being separated again. Sam needed Dean's enduring faith and forgiveness in him, and Dean needed to be protected from his lack of regard for himself and his own safety. They needed each other. Because Life's number one rule was: Do anything you can to make the Winchesters' lives hell.


End file.
